


you were a friend of mine

by suzukiblu



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: ???? Bucky Barnes, Alpha Natasha Romanov, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Timeline, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Character, Dubious Consent, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, F/M, Fuck Or Suffer Unspecified Health Consequences, Fuck Yeah Female Alphas, Gender Dysphoria, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Non-Consensual Sexual Contact, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Omega Steve Rogers, Past Brainwashing, Polyamory, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Sex-Repulsed Asexual Character, Steve Rogers as the Winter Soldier, Trans Character, sex-favorable asexual character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21709237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzukiblu/pseuds/suzukiblu
Summary: Steve is convinced they’re his handlers.This does not mean Steve trusts or listens to them.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 30
Kudos: 463





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ZepysGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZepysGirl/gifts), [mithborien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithborien/gifts).



> Written for zepysgirl, who wanted queer ABO with Natasha/Bucky/Steve, ace!Natasha, and borderline-ace-but-mostly-dsyphoric trans!Bucky. Also, Winter Soldier Steve thinking of the other two as his handlers and going through his first post-HYDRA heat.

Steve is convinced they’re his handlers. 

This does not mean Steve trusts or listens to them. Bucky wasn’t stupid enough to think he would, because he’s known Steve Rogers longer than thirty seconds. Natasha is also not stupid enough to think he would, either because she’s alarmingly good at reading people or because she’s not telling Bucky something about her past run-ins with the Winter Soldier. It’s Natasha, so both options are on the table. 

Bucky could ask, but it’s Natasha, and the answer doesn’t really matter anyway. 

“Are you going to be able to do this?” she asks, tone and face and body language all perfectly neutral in that one particular way that only she can manage as she leans against the wall. They’re standing outside of—not Steve’s den, exactly, but the den that Steve’s been sleeping in. Assuming he actually sleeps anymore. Bucky doesn’t like to so much himself. 

“I have to,” he says. Steve fell off that train for him; carried him out of Azzano before that. Steve did so _much_ for him, even before the war and no matter what it cost him. This is the least he can do. 

“You don’t, actually,” Natasha says, raising a perfectly-sculpted eyebrow and still projecting utter neutrality of opinion. 

“I _need_ to,” Bucky says, because that might be more honest. “He’s my friend.” 

“He’s the Winter Soldier,” Natasha says. 

“He’s Steve Rogers,” Bucky says. The Winter Soldier is just a name. Captain America was just a name. Hell, it’s a name Bucky’s carried, even though he never wanted it. But Steve Rogers has always been Steve Rogers, at the root of things. 

“Thinking that could get you killed,” Natasha says, crossing her feet at the ankle. It sounds less like a warning and more like a statement. 

“I know,” Bucky says, because obviously he does. But he knows Steve, too. 

Natasha tugs him down and kisses him, and he grips her elbow tight. 

“You’re both idiots,” Sam says as he appears at the end of the hall with a stack of blankets in his arms, his calming beta scent barely discernible even as he approaches them. “Alphas, man, you’re all the same.” Bucky feels a twinge of discomfort, but doesn’t comment. 

“We’re the ones he’s least likely to kill,” Natasha says. “He thinks we’re his handlers.” 

“And one day someone is gonna make you explain why you’re included in that,” Sam says. Natasha smiles at him. Bucky takes the blankets and tucks them under his arm, which is still harder than it should be one-handed even after all this time. Still, considering an arm’s the only thing he lost after getting frozen for seventy years, he got off pretty lucky. “Also, I don’t actually believe he’s any less likely to kill a handler.” 

“Fair,” Natasha allows with a nod. “But in that case, we’re the ones most likely to be able to _survive_ him trying to kill us.” 

“He’s the original super-soldier,” Sam says. 

“I said _most_ likely, not ‘very’,” she says. 

“Yeah, fair enough,” Sam says. “Want a panic button? Stark gave me, like, four of them. He’s pretty sure you’re gonna die.” 

“We’re fine, Sam,” Bucky says. If Steve is going to kill them, they’ll be dead before they can hit a panic button. “Thanks, though.” 

“Sure, what would we need with one of those,” Sam says with a sigh. “Just—be safe, alright?” 

“Safe as houses,” Natasha says with a smile, and leans up to press a kiss to his cheek. Houses are not actually all that safe, Bucky thinks. At least, not for someone like Natasha. Sam seems mollified, though only grudgingly, and Bucky suspects he knows houses aren’t that safe to Natasha either. 

“We’ll be careful,” he promises, and kisses Sam’s other cheek. It’s probably not even a lie. Sam just sighs, and leaves them to it. 

They look at each other, and then look at Steve’s door. 

Bucky knocks. Natasha gives him a _look_ , but not an easily decipherable one. The door jerks open. 

“What?” Steve snaps. He’s panting and sweating, hand trembling on the door and pheromones reeking of heat. Bucky’s not sure if that means they waited too long or waited exactly long enough. 

“Functioning to parameters, Soldier?” Natasha asks. 

“Can you fucking _smell_?” Steve demands, obviously irritated. He looks them both over, then grabs the front of Bucky’s shirt past the blankets and fucking _yanks_ , and Bucky stumbles forward into the den. He can smell just fine, and Steve smells like lust and need and burnt sugar. It’d probably do something, for a different alpha. In Bucky’s case, it just makes him worry. 

Steve pins him to the wall. He drops the blankets, obviously. 

“Get your fucking knot in me, Captain,” Steve says, baring his teeth at him. Bucky barely represses a grimace, for several reasons. 

“Wrong one,” he says, tilting his head towards Natasha. 

“She’s small. I don’t want a small knot,” Steve snaps impatiently. He grabs Bucky’s dick through his jeans, and Bucky reflexively flinches back into the wall, putting his hand on Steve’s chest to push him back. It doesn’t work, because Steve got a much better version of the serum than he did and also has both arms to leverage. 

“Your memory’s still that spotty, _moya lyubov_?” Natasha says, and Steve--twitches, maybe, and slants his eyes towards her. Natasha’s already taking her clothes off, still wearing that neutral expression, and Steve hisses lowly and drops his grip on Bucky. 

He says something in Russian, quick and sharp; Bucky wishes he spoke it well enough to understand. Natasha smiles at Steve and drops her shirt to the floor. She hasn’t bothered closing the door. She’s barely even stepped into the room. 

“Let’s stick to English, for our boy’s sake,” she says lightly. 

“Take your pants off, rutter,” Steve growls, stalking towards her the same way he did when he was trying to kill them on the bridge. Natasha looks unphased. Bucky’s relieved to have Steve’s hands off him, but also feels bereft without Steve’s hands on him. It’s an unfortunate contradiction. 

He doesn’t want his hands on his _dick_ , obviously, just . . . 

It’s been a long time since Steve put his hands on him in any way that wasn’t violent. 

Then again, he supposes that might’ve counted as violent. 

Natasha takes her pants off, Steve jumps her, and they both go down. Bucky jerks in alarm, and just barely holds himself back—Natasha can survive a few bumps and bruises. Even if he didn’t already know that, she’d made it very clear she’d expected to be when they’d been figuring this out. 

Bucky doesn’t know anything about what Natasha likes in bed, mostly because he’s never been there with her. Neither of them is particularly fond of sex, Natasha probably even less so than him, but Natasha’s actually _willing_ to have sex while the very idea makes Bucky feel nauseous. It also makes him feel restless and useless and like he can’t be what Steve needs, which is . . . a whole other thing, honestly. 

He wishes he weren’t an alpha, sometimes. He’s never fit the expectations that came along with it. He doesn’t want to _knot_ Steve, he just wants to help, somehow. If he were an omega like Tony he might be able to share his nest; if he were a beta like Sam, he might be able to calm things down. Not that Steve’s actually made a proper nest—he’s stripped the bed bare and thrown the blankets on the floor, in fact, so that’s basically the _opposite_ of a nest. 

Bucky would still like to be able to calm things down, at least. 

Steve kicks his pants off and throws them aside. Natasha puts her hands on him, light and easy. Bucky . . . well, he closes the door, because he might as well. 

He doesn’t know what to do here. Natasha can be the kind of alpha Steve needs, whatever that kind of alpha turns out to be, but Bucky is just . . . here, more or less. 

He probably shouldn’t have come. 

“You’re smaller than he is,” Steve says as he looks at Natasha’s clit, sounding irritated. It probably doesn’t help that she’s not hard and is nowhere close to knotting, Bucky figures. 

“You certainly know how to charm an alpha,” Natasha says, mouth quirking in amusement. Steve glares at her and shoves her back into the wall. She goes with the motion and somehow manages not to hit her head in the process. “Mmm. Impatient.” 

“You’re _soft_ ,” Steve growls accusingly, planting a hand on her shoulder to pin her against the wall. 

“I noticed,” Natasha says, arching an eyebrow at him. “Why don’t we—” 

Steve hisses at her and shoves her back against the wall again. She still manages not to hit her head. Bucky’s fairly sure he’d have a concussion if it were him. 

“ _Neither_ of you?” Steve demands, glaring at both of them. He’s still panting, and the shirt he didn’t bother taking off is soaked with sweat. “Get me a real alpha.” 

Yeah, Steve definitely doesn’t trust them. 

“We’re it,” Natasha says. Steve bares his teeth. 

“I need a knot that fucking _works_ ,” he says. 

“I have one of those,” Natasha says mildly. She puts a hand around her clit and squeezes it. Bucky glances at Steve, who looks like he’s about to storm out of the room altogether. They had enough trouble getting him to accept being shut in somewhere to begin with, heat coming on or not; if they piss him off too much, Bucky’s pretty sure he’ll storm out of the fucking _Tower_ , and they might not see him again. 

Won’t, probably. 

He wishes Steve remembered a little bit more. Or . . . anything at all, really. 

The important thing is that Steve is safe and Steve _needs_ them, though, so he makes himself stop thinking that and tries to figure out if there’s something he can do here. What Steve _wants_ him to do is something he hates doing, but if it comes to it . . . 

Well, Steve deserves a lot more than that. Deserves a lot more than Bucky’s ever managed to do for him. Bucky can suffer through knotting him, if he has to. If it’s what Steve wants. 

He really, really doesn’t want to have to, though. 

“See?” Natasha says. Her clit’s not so soft anymore, and she gives it another stroke or two. Steve looks a bit less furious, but still angry all the same. 

“You don’t smell right,” he accuses even as he clambers into her lap and Bucky’s shoulders slump in relief. 

“I’m just not attracted to you,” Natasha says. Steve balks, then _glares_. He puts a hand around her throat. Natasha is unphased. 

“She’s ace, Steve,” Bucky says, because all he wants to do here is be the calming influence this situation so _clearly_ needs. Not for the first time, he wishes he weren’t an alpha. Alphas are not good at “calming”. “She doesn’t get attracted to anyone. Neither of us do.” 

“Then what _use_ are you?” Steve says, turning his glare on him. Bucky really, _really_ wishes Steve remembered a few more things. 

“I can knot you,” Natasha says. Her breathing’s a little restricted, but her tone is even. “Why do you care about anything else?” 

“I don’t,” Steve says, his lips curled into a snarl. He still doesn’t let go of her throat. 

“Then let me do what I’m here for, _moya lyubov_ ,” Natasha says coaxingly, dragging a hand up Steve’s thigh. He shudders—he’s in heat, of _course_ he shudders—and bares his teeth again. 

“You’re shit at this,” he says bluntly. He grabs Natasha’s clit what looks like painfully tightly, but she doesn’t so much as flinch. She’s Natasha, after all. She lays a hand over Steve’s, and he shakes it off and sits down _hard_ on her clit. Natasha exhales just barely harshly, and Steve snarls again and grinds down roughly. Natasha braces her hands against the floor and pushes her hips up into his. 

Bucky watches them and doesn’t feel right about any of this. 

He’s useless here. He wants to do something, do _anything_ that could help, but— 

“You’re _small_ ,” Steve hisses angrily, bristling in frustration. 

“You’re spoiled,” Natasha says practically. She’s not actually small, Bucky thinks—definitely not for her size, that’s for sure. HYDRA had some very fucked-up ways of keeping Steve in line, though, so who knows what he’s used to or what he’s comparing her to. “Roll over. Let me work.” 

“Fuck you,” Steve says spitefully, and because he’s still Steve, somewhere in there, doesn’t listen to her. He rides her instead, hard and fast, and she digs her nails into the carpet with a low grunt. 

“He never listens,” Bucky says. Steve’s always just done what he wanted, one way or the other. 

“I noticed,” Natasha says dryly, then grunts again as Steve snaps his hips down harder. “Soldier—” 

_“What,”_ Steve snaps. He’s breathless and sharp-eyed, and looks more pained than satisfied. 

“It’ll feel better if you let her do more,” Bucky says, crouching beside them like he can actually do something useful, and Steve plants a hand on his chest and shoves him over so hard he practically skids into the door. 

“Shut up,” Steve orders brusquely. “Get naked. You’re next.” 

Bucky _thinks_ he’s glad that this is how Steve approaches his heats even after all that time effectively enslaved to HYDRA and their memory-wiping machine, but he’s just—he’s not that kind of alpha. He never has been. 

“Steve,” he says uncomfortably. He doesn’t get undressed, but he thinks . . . maybe he should. Maybe, if he can just give Steve what he wants . . . 

“Soldier,” Natasha says. “Did I say I was done with you yet?” 

Steve snarls at her, and she rumbles low in her chest, and then they start struggling with each other. Bucky grimaces, and still can’t figure out how to help. Natasha’s clit slips out of Steve and he _hisses_ , and then they crash into Bucky and nearly knock him over. Bucky curses in surprise and automatically grabs onto them before he can overbalance. He ends up with his hand on the small of Steve’s back. 

Steve—pants, and stills. He’s on top of Natasha, his hands gripping her wrists and his thighs spread over hers. He’s wet, which Bucky can tell because Natasha’s clit is soaked and shiny with his slick, but he still has that pained look on his face. 

“Steve,” Bucky says, knowing he should probably be calling him “Soldier”. Steve looks at him. His face is flushed and his expression is furious. 

“Shut up,” he says again. Bucky bites the inside of his cheek and reclaims his hand. Steve growls at him the moment he does. 

“Be nice,” Natasha says. Bucky gives her a blank look; Steve _laughs_. 

It’s not the kind of laugh Bucky’d have hoped to hear from him, if he’d been expecting him to ever laugh again. 

“You always make it so hard, _lyubov_ ,” Natasha says, and then does something very quick and very _complicated_ with her thighs and ends up shoving Steve’s face into the carpet. He snarls, body tensing underneath hers, and Bucky—

Bucky puts a hand on the back of his neck like he used to hate to love, and Steve—stills, again, and doesn’t move. 

“We’ve got you, Soldier,” Natasha croons, drawing her hands up his shaking thighs. She pushes into him. He grabs the back of Bucky’s wrist and digs his nails in painfully. Bucky takes it, because it’s such a little pain it hardly matters. Natasha rolls her hips, slow and lazy, and Steve makes a noise that sounds more alarmed than aroused. 

“We’ve got you,” Bucky repeats, trying to sound soothing. He really, _really_ wishes he weren’t an alpha. A beta would be a lot more useful right now. A beta could do what he _wants_ to do. 

Steve doesn’t say anything. His free hand is fisted against the carpet, and his spine and shoulders are tense. 

“Better?” Natasha says, and rolls her hips in again. Steve still doesn’t say anything, but his knuckles are whitening. Bucky’s not sure if that’s a good sign, but hopes it is. 

He rubs the back of Steve’s neck carefully, and Steve turns his head just enough to glare up at him. His nails draw blood, but Bucky doesn’t stop rubbing his neck. If Steve’s tolerating it, that must mean he still likes it. At least, he’s damn well never known Steve to tolerate anything soft if he didn’t like it. 

Natasha keeps rolling her hips, gently merciless, and slips a hand around to the front of Steve’s hips and gets her fingers on his cock. He grits his teeth. Bucky’s not sure he’s not going to break his wrist. 

“Always so difficult to satisfy,” Natasha hums, pressing her breasts to Steve’s back and nuzzling into his shoulder blades. Bucky feels like he should be asking what the hell she’s talking about, but if Steve likes it, he’s not questioning it. 

“Harder,” Steve grits out. Natasha ignores him, though she shifts the angle of her hips in a way that _really_ makes Bucky worry Steve is going to break his wrist. He still can’t bring himself to reclaim his hand, as bad as that would be. If he still had the other hand, he’d be stroking Steve’s hair, but of course he doesn’t. 

Steve’s gasping for breath, barely even moving except to shake and tremble underneath Natasha, except to grip Bucky’s wrist tighter and tighter. Natasha picks up the pace, just a little, and Bucky knows for a fact his wrist will be bruised to the bone. 

He wants to help. 

He doesn’t know if this is helping enough. 

Steve comes with a harsh jerk, completely silent with the entire thing looking torn out of him and _painful_. He doesn’t break Bucky’s wrist, by some miracle. Natasha lets her clit slip out of him and rumbles, low and satisfied—a very _alpha_ sound that makes Steve shudder all over again. His pheromones smell sweeter than anything Bucky’s ever smelled, and he bites the inside of his cheek again. 

“Are you alright?” Natasha says. It takes Bucky a moment to realize she’s talking to him. 

“What?” He blinks at her. She looks back at him, expression neutral but patient. 

“Are you alright,” she repeats. “I know you don’t like to get this involved in things.” 

“I’m—fine,” Bucky says hesitantly, not entirely sure that he is. He doesn’t know if he’s doing this right. Natasha watches him, still wearing that neutral patience all over her face. 

“Don’t _stop_ ,” Steve demands, his voice raspy. Natasha ignores him again. Steve fumbles back, trying to grab her hip. Bucky’s wrist is bleeding a little, half-moon circles cut into the skin, but Steve’s grip on it isn’t any looser. 

“We can take a minute,” Natasha says. 

“It’s okay,” Bucky says, glancing down at Steve. He wants Steve taken care of. He wants Steve to have everything he deserves, and everything he _wants_. 

“Okay,” Natasha says, and guides her clit back into Steve, who tenses up again, his hand groping purposelessly in the air behind him. Natasha catches it with one of hers and kisses it, then twists it up behind his back in a way that can’t possibly be comfortable. Steve doesn’t try to break the hold at all. Bucky rubs the back of his neck as soothingly as an alpha can, knowing his grip’s probably too rough and doing his best to mitigate that fact. Steve starts panting into the carpet again. 

“Is _this_ okay?” Bucky says. “Steve?” 

“Don’t _stop_ ,” Steve says again, teeth gritted roughly. “Fucking—if you ever want me to run a mission again, fucking don’t _stop_.” 

Bucky’s gut clenches painfully, and he breathes out. Natasha looks unphased. 

“Maybe we don’t want you to run any more missions,” she says, and twists her hips in a way that makes Steve’s breath hitch. Bucky’s gut feels hot and uncomfortable, and he isn’t sure what to do. “Maybe we like this better.” 

“You don’t even smell like you like it,” Steve growls, pushing his forehead into the floor. 

“I’m not a _machine_ ,” Natasha says wryly, stroking his thigh. “Of course I like it. You’re so tight, _moya lyubov_ , and you come so pretty. I’m going to wring you dry.” 

Steve laughs, sharp and breathless. He squirms underneath Natasha, then very obviously clenches his body around her. She lets out a huffed breath, and he pushes up into her next thrust. 

“ _Two_ of you’s not enough to wring me dry,” he says derisively. “Hurry the fuck up and knot me. _Both_ of you.” 

“Still just me on the table,” Natasha says. She runs a hand up Steve’s back, and twists his arm up a little tighter behind it. Bucky feels vaguely queasy. He still wants to help; still wants to do this right. 

Steve’s never made helping him easy, though. 

“Then fucking _do_ something,” Steve snarls breathlessly, body jerking as Natasha runs her nails down his side. 

“I am,” Natasha says. Steve growls and shoves up, knocking her back and freeing his arm. He shakes it out and lets go of Bucky’s wrist, then grabs his hips and buries his face in his lap. Bucky curses in surprise, head hitting the wall, and Steve drags his tongue up his cock through his sweats. It feels—it’s—

“We said he’s not on the table, Soldier,” Natasha says, grabbing Steve’s hair and dragging his head back. Bucky shudders, snapping his thighs shut and pressing back a bit tighter into the wall. He doesn’t like sex. He always feels fucked up during it. 

Steve’s always made him feel a little strange about that, though. 

“I want a _knot_ ,” Steve growls. 

“Not mine,” Bucky manages. If sex fucks him up, knotting fucks him up a thousand times worse. He fucking _hates_ to knot. 

“Why the hell did the Secretary pick _you_?” Steve says with another growl, grabbing Bucky’s hips again. 

“He didn’t,” Bucky says, planting his hand on the other’s shoulder in an attempt to push him back. 

“No wonder you’re so shit at this, then,” Steve says. Bucky grimaces. Natasha exhales. 

“Look who’s talking,” she says. “You only got off when you let us be in charge, but you aren’t willing to let us be in charge?” 

That sounds like Steve, yeah. 

“You’re not _doing_ anything!” Steve snaps, and Natasha leans over his back and pushes her clit into him again. He curses, hips jerking, and she puts her hands on them and rocks her own in. 

“Better?” she asks. Steve curses again. Bucky, hesitantly, moves his hand to the back of his neck, and Steve yanks his thighs apart again and buries his face in the crook of one of them. Bucky genuinely does not know how he feels about that, but Steve’s not mouthing at his _dick_ again, so . . . “I thought so.” 

Natasha fucks Steve that same mercilessly gentle way she did before, and he hisses and curses into Bucky’s thigh and _writhes_ underneath her. Bucky manages to keep his own breathing more or less even, and just concentrates on petting him. Natasha glances at him, obviously checking on him, and he forces himself to look like he knows what he’s doing. He doubts she’ll buy it, but as long as he can fake it she’ll probably still let him get away with it. 

Natasha keeps rolling her hips into Steve’s, so Bucky assumes she’s letting him get away with it, at least for now. Steve grips his hips bruise-tight and bites down _hard_ on his thigh to muffle a keening cry; Bucky’s leg jerks reflexively and somehow ends up over Steve’s shoulder. Natasha’s the one doing the fucking, but somehow _he’s_ the one ending up all marked up. 

Steve comes again, long and messy and shaking through it, burying another keening cry in Bucky’s thigh, and Bucky keeps petting his neck in the hopes of doing . . . something. Anything. 

“Alpha,” Steve moans; Bucky winces. Natasha doesn’t change her pace or angle, as if he hadn’t come at all. _“Alpha!”_

Steve’s not talking to him, Bucky tells himself, and forces himself to exhale normally. 

And Steve would never call him “alpha” if he remembered. 

“There we are,” Natasha murmurs. She strokes Steve’s cock. He shakes. She glances at Bucky again, and he keeps trying not to look wrecked. What HYDRA did to Steve . . . he’s not forgiving that. Ever. 

Not that there was ever anything worth forgiving in a bunch of Nazi spies and traitors, mind. 

“Alphaaaaa,” Steve moans again, and clings to him and pushes back into Natasha. Bucky curls his fingers against the back of his neck. “Knot me knot me _knot me_ —” 

Natasha pushes her knot in, and Steve _mewls_. It’s not a sound Bucky’s ever heard him make before, and it feels . . . it’s very strange, hearing it. 

Bucky’s not sure how it feels. 

“Harder, harder, harder,” Steve pants, clawing at his hips. This time, Natasha listens. 

Bucky watches them both fall apart, or at least as much apart as either of them will let themselves, and keeps feeling that very strange feeling. He used to get Steve through his heats, when they were younger and before he’d figured out just how much he _really_ didn’t like it, and he’s not sure how he feels about watching someone else do it. He knows other people _have_ done it, obviously—of course other people have done it—but watching it is . . . 

He’s not sure what it is. 

He likes it a lot better when he’s not the one being expected to knot, though. 

It’s . . . different, when he’s not the one being expected to knot. 

He thinks he actually _does_ like it. 

“There we go, Soldier,” Natasha says, and Steve moans and groans and _comes_ , keening into the floor. Natasha exhales, and that was probably her coming too. Bucky feels—weird, and like he wants to do something. He keeps petting Steve’s neck. 

Natasha looks at him. Her eyes are a little blurry. 

“Mm?” she murmurs. Bucky shakes his head. He doesn’t know how to explain it to her. Steve’s panting against his thigh, hands still wrapped around his hips. Natasha leans her body weight into him and he moans. 

Bucky _really_ wants to do that something, whatever the hell it is. 

Steve inhales, and then lets out a low purr. He pushes his face into Bucky’s crotch again. Bucky . . . doesn’t stop him. 

“Soldier—” Natasha starts to say warningly, and Bucky cuts her off. 

“It’s—okay,” he manages. He feels weird, but not the way he usually does in these situations. He’s going to blame Steve for that, because Steve’s always been the exception to so many of his rules. 

“Is it?” Natasha eyes him, not with suspicion but with— _something_. He still doesn’t know how to explain it. 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and must do a good enough job of keeping it together for her to let it go. Steve nuzzles his cock and tugs at his sweatpants, pulling them down just enough, and Bucky bites his lip. He’s hard, which is not something he gets very often, and Steve smells so _good_. 

He doesn’t know what’s different about this time. 

“About fucking time,” Steve purrs raspily, and licks the head of his dick. Bucky bites his lip again, or maybe just bites it harder. He doesn’t know what to do so he just keeps petting the back of Steve’s neck, and Steve seems to take that as encouragement and pushes his mouth down around him. Bucky curses. Natasha keeps watching him. 

“Is it fine as long as you don’t knot?” she asks, neutral as ever. It’s just a question, no judgement or expectation in it. Bucky almost wishes there were, because then maybe he’d know how to answer it. 

“I don’t—I don’t know,” he gasps out. Steve’s mouth feels really _good_. They never tried it like this, back in the old days. It was always Steve needing knotted, and him needing to provide that knot. This is—different. 

“It’s okay, though?” Natasha asks, and Bucky nods helplessly. It is _very_ okay. Much more okay than it’s ever been before, in fact. Natasha reaches out and cups his face, and he presses into the contact. Steve swallows around him, sucking greedily, and he _chokes_. 

It is very, very okay. 

“That’s good, Soldier,” Natasha says. “Just like that.” 

Steve growls around Bucky’s cock, his fingers digging into his hips, and Bucky feels a little light-headed. He wants to say something but still has no idea what to say. It’s just . . . it’s different, for some reason. 

Steve presses his tongue up and _sucks_. Bucky tips his head back against the wall with a groan. He thinks about how Natasha’s knot is filling Steve up and how Steve doesn’t need another alpha right now, and knows he is the worst alpha ever because he _likes_ that. Steve doesn’t need another alpha, and Natasha doesn’t expect him to act like one, and Steve’s mouth feels so _good_ , and—

Bucky comes in a sudden, startling rush, hot and desperate and _good_ , and Steve purrs around his cock and then lets it fall out of his mouth and spurt wet white stripes all over his face. Bucky takes one look at _that_ and feels like he could come all over again. He’s not knotting anything, but he doesn’t care like he should. It feels so much _better_ this way. 

“Steve,” he says, and it comes out pained and raw. Steve licks his sticky lips, obviously savoring. 

“That’s better,” he says with a fierce satisfaction. Bucky wants to kiss him very, very badly, but doesn’t know if that’s something Steve will let him get away with. Steve never especially liked kissing even _before_ Bucky let him fall off that train, which is a shame because that was always Bucky’s favorite part. He settles for wiping his come off the other’s face and licking his fingers clean. Steve suffers the attention for a little bit, then buries his face in his thigh again and bites it. Bucky doesn’t know what that means. 

“Good,” Natasha says, rubbing Steve’s hip. She’s still looking at Bucky, who has no idea what to think about any of what just happened or what to say to her. She doesn’t say anything to him, though, so he doesn’t have to worry about it. 

Steve growls in irritation, and Natasha leans back and lets her softening knot slip out of him. She strokes his flank, and he squirms restlessly. 

“We’re not done,” he says. 

“We’re not,” Natasha agrees. She slips a couple of fingers into him and he growls again. 

“That’s not _enough_ ,” he says. 

“Have some patience,” she says, settling down behind him. “You’ll like it, don’t worry.” 

“I’ll like it if you use your fucking _knot_ ,” Steve snaps. 

“If you’re patient, I will,” Natasha says, working in another finger. Steve bares his teeth. Bucky puts his hand in the other’s sweat-soaked hair and strokes it back off his forehead. He wore it so much shorter before, and he was always clean-shaven. Now . . . well, HYDRA apparently was not interested in keeping up a shave and a decent haircut for their secret super-soldier assassin, and Steve hasn’t shown any interest in the process either. 

It’s a difference, a thing that never would’ve happened before, and Bucky categorizes it with all the other changes the twenty-first century has brought and almost laughs at himself for even caring enough to notice. After everything else, the fact that Steve’s this close to growing a beard is what sticks out to him right now? Really? _Really?_

It’s funny. 

Natasha rocks her fingers into Steve, and he bites down on Bucky’s thigh, and Bucky keeps feeling strange about all this but still isn’t being expected to be anyone’s alpha, so . . . well, it’s kind of nice. Even if Steve doesn’t really know him anymore and he can only do so much for him and Natasha’s a little too far away for him to reach right now, it’s . . . _nice_ , almost. 

Steve’s safe, and so is Natasha, and Sam and Tony and all the rest of them, and Project Insight is a wash, and Bucky doesn’t have to be anything he’s really, really not—not an alpha, and not Captain America ever again. 

And no one is ever going to push Steve’s shield on him again either. He might finally take Tony up on that prosthetic he’s been threatening to build, if it means keeping up with Steve better, but that’s it. He’s giving the shield back the first chance he gets, and he never wants to carry the damn thing again. He never wants to carry _anything_ he’s not again. 

Natasha twists her fingers, Steve moans, and Bucky pushes his hand through the other’s hair and back down the back of his neck. Steve wraps his hands around his thighs and grips him tight. He’s going to bruise, Bucky already knows—of course he’s going to bruise. 

He still doesn’t know what to say, but . . . 

“I missed you so fucking much,” he says. Steve gives him a strange look, like he has no idea what he’s talking about. He _does_ have no idea what he’s talking about, so that makes sense. It makes something in Bucky’s chest ache painfully, but Steve’s still _safe_ , and that’s what matters. It’s the only thing that matters. 

“Me too, _moya lyubov_ ,” Natasha says, and drops a kiss to the back of Steve’s shoulder. Steve doesn’t look like he has any idea what she’s talking about either, but neither does Bucky. 

“Knot me,” Steve demands sharply, shoving his hips back into Natasha’s body. It’s probably the easiest thing for him to say when they’re not making sense, Bucky figures. Natasha hums, and strokes her clit a few times before pushing into him again. Steve hisses, pushing back to meet her. “Fucking— _harder_ , fuck!” 

Natasha ignores him, and sets a steady, gentle pace. Steve makes an irritated noise. Bucky strokes the back of his neck, and gets the inside of his wrist bitten for his trouble. 

“I said _harder_ ,” Steve says, gritting his teeth. 

“I said be patient,” Natasha says, nuzzling the back of his shoulder. 

Steve, unsurprisingly, is not patient. He reaches back and grabs at her hip, yanking her forward demandingly, and she lets out a huff of a breath and leans back, planting her hand in the small of his back. Steve _growls_ ; she rumbles back. 

“We have you,” she says. “Relax.” 

“I should fucking kill you,” Steve says spitefully. Bucky tries, not for the first time, not to think too much about what his heats were like with HYDRA. 

“Mmm, but that’d be a waste of a perfectly good knot, wouldn’t it?” Natasha says mildly, rolling her hips into Steve’s in a way that makes his breath hitch against Bucky’s thigh. 

“Fuck you,” he says, _squirming_. 

“Never the grateful type, were you,” Natasha says. Bucky laughs, a little sad about it. No, Steve was never good at being grateful. He never knew how to say it. It makes Bucky feel a little better, those bits of his old self peeking through. Even if Steve never remembers, he’s still _Steve_. HYDRA took a lot from him, but they didn’t get that. 

“Fucking _fuck_ ,” Steve says with exactly as much patience as he’s never had in bed, biting his thigh again. Bucky’s going to be marked up for days. Natasha leans heavier against his back and rolls her hips in a little faster. Steve growls, pushing himself up on his arms and pushing back into her so hard Bucky’s impressed she doesn’t get knocked over. He puts his hand back on the back of Steve’s neck and Steve doesn’t soften—tenses, if anything—but doesn’t bite him again. 

Bucky thinks that’s a good sign. Or wants to, maybe. 

“Hurry up,” Steve says, impatient and breathless. Bucky wants to kiss him again, but still isn’t sure he can. Natasha hums again, thrusting into him deeper, so her knot presses against his rim. Steve starts cursing in _several_ different languages and grabs onto Bucky again to brace himself. It’s not an embrace, but it could be mistaken for one. 

Bucky pushes his mouth into Steve’s throat, and inhales. Steve smells so sweet; soft and inviting and nothing like he’s ever acted in his _life_ , much less right now. Bucky’s gut feels warm and heavy and he wants . . . a lot of things, he thinks, but nothing he can quite pin down. Natasha brushes the hair on the back of Steve’s neck aside and lightly presses her lips there, and Steve jerks violently, his hands turning to claws on Bucky’s body. 

“Don’t,” he says unevenly, his breath coming faster. Natasha leans back. 

“Alright,” she says, neutral and easy and with no trace of whatever her own opinion is. Bucky’s not sure that always helps as much as she seems to think it does. He reaches towards her and puts his hand over one of hers, and she raises an eyebrow at him, not missing a beat fucking Steve. “Need something, Cap?” 

“You know that’s not my name,” Bucky says. 

“Mmmm,” she says. “Isn’t it?” 

“Technically, I’m still a sergeant.” 

She laughs, and turns her hand to grip his. Steve growls restlessly between them, hips rocking harder, and Natasha meets him in kind. They’re both breathing faster. Bucky just watches them, and keeps wanting kissed. 

He could ask one of them, but this is about taking care of Steve. It’s really not that important, anyway. What matters is that Steve gets what he needs— _wants_ —and that Natasha doesn’t get hurt giving it to him. 

He wants Steve to get what he wants. Wants it very badly. 

Wants some other things, too, but again, those are too complicated and too much to work out just now. 

They haven’t even gotten off the _floor_ , he thinks wryly. 

Somewhere in there, Steve ends up practically in his lap, so wet he’s nearly dripping and with Natasha pressed up tight against his back. Normally Bucky would want to escape, but right now he really doesn’t, and he wants to even less as he watches Natasha stroke Steve’s cock. 

He kind of wants to help, actually. 

“Steve,” he says. Steve gives him a blurry, heated look. He doesn’t really understand that it’s his name, probably, but he knows Bucky means him when he says it. Maybe that’s enough, for right now. Enough like this has had to be for Steve’s heat, and like this den has had to be, and like _he’s_ had to be. 

He really wants to think he’s been enough. 

“Steve,” he says again, and puts his hand over Natasha’s and takes over stroking his cock. Steve makes a raspy, breathless sound and wraps his arms around his neck. Natasha pushes her forehead into the back of his shoulder and fucks him harder, until her knot pops in and he comes all over both of them on a low, keening cry. Bucky still doesn’t want to knot, but his cock is heavy and swollen in his lap and he wishes someone would touch it. He doesn’t know how to ask for that, because that’s something he’s never asked for in his _life_ , but this is still about Steve anyway so it doesn’t really matter. 

“Good soldier,” Natasha murmurs as she strokes Steve’s flank and Bucky’s back, breathless from her own orgasm, and Bucky buries his face in Steve’s shoulder and wraps his arm around the both of them. He feels hot and restless and overwhelmed, and there’s too much in him right now. 

But Steve’s safe, and that’s what matters. 

Steve says something in Russian. Natasha makes a surprised noise. Bucky lifts his head, just to see what’s confusing her, and Steve puts a hand on his cock and bites his mouth. Bucky makes a surprised noise of his own, eyes widening, and Steve growls into the—it’s _barely_ a kiss, honestly, but it’s close enough for Bucky. 

“What are you doing?” he manages, like an idiot who’s looking the gift horse in the mouth, and Steve glares at him. 

“Shut up,” he says, and kisses him again. Bucky kisses him back, because he’s not _stupid_. 

“Hm,” Natasha muses, and Bucky feels her hand gently brush against his jaw. He breaks off the kiss, panting, and Steve buries his mouth in his neck and starts biting him again, his hand wrapping properly around his cock as he does. Natasha touches his lips, and it takes Bucky a second to realize she’s doing it because she can’t reach to kiss him. His face goes hot, and she slides her fingers into his mouth. 

“Mmph,” is the most he manages to get out, shivering and shaking, and it takes an _embarrassingly_ short amount of time before he’s coming all over Steve’s fist. Steve licks his fingers clean as Natasha reclaims her own, and Bucky feels lightheaded. 

Again, he doesn’t know what to say. 

“What was that for?” he manages finally, and Natasha gives him that neutral look and then just shrugs, and Steve licks come off the inside of his wrist while staring straight at him like he’s about to fucking kill him. 

He guesses he should know better than to expect a straight answer from the super-secret super-spies, even if one of them _is_ Steve Rogers. 

“Thanks,” Bucky says, for lack of a better idea. Steve snorts. Natasha smiles. 

“Better?” she asks, and he nods wordlessly. “Good.” 

“Touch me more,” Steve orders, and Natasha’s smile widens in amusement. Bucky’s never found something like that so easy to listen to, but coming from Steve, it really is. He pushes his hand up the other’s side and his mouth into his neck, and Steve hisses and digs his fingers in against his back. Natasha hums contentedly, shifting her hips against Steve’s and getting a louder hiss out of him. 

All Bucky wants to do is keep making him sound just like that, and he figures—nothing’s stopping him from doing that, right? There’s plenty he can do besides knot, with Natasha right here to take care of that part of things. Steve deserves the best heat they can give them, and if he’s willing to take Bucky as he is, and not as he’s supposed to be . . . 

Well, there’s a lot Bucky can do with that. 

“I’m so glad you’re alive,” he says, too tender and too vulnerable but impossible to keep quiet about. He kisses behind Steve’s ear, and Steve huffs breathlessly and drags his nails down his back. 

“You make no fucking sense,” he says flatly. 

“Okay,” Bucky says, smiling helplessly against the other’s skin. He never thought he’d have this again—Steve alive and in his arms and with no war to go back to. He’s willing to take it any way he can get it, and Natasha being here too is a pretty nice bonus. 

“I’m not doing any missions for a fucking _month_ after this,” Steve grumbles, shifting his hips demandingly, and Bucky kisses behind his ear again. “And neither of you bastards is leaving this room _until_ then, either.” 

“Well, I’m sure we’ll come up with some way to pass the time,” Natasha says mildly, skirting her fingers up his side. 

Bucky can definitely think of a few ideas, himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for mithborien, who wanted more of this fic and more intimacy.

Steve’s heat is short. Bucky’s not sure if that’s a mercy or not, but he should probably consider it one. It’s . . . overwhelming, honestly, and he does his best, but he isn’t sure how to handle it. 

Natasha seems to know, at least, so that's one of them. 

Steve's heat being over doesn't seem to have diminished his interest in sex, though. 

Well . . . it's been decades since he could have sex however he wanted to. It's not really a surprise he wants more of it now. 

"Knot me," Steve says as he straddles Natasha's lap, because he's no less fixated on that. At least they’re on the mattress now, and at least he's stopped demanding it from him, Bucky thinks in relief. 

Not that Steve hasn't taken every opportunity to get his hands on him that he could during all this. Bucky's still wearing clothes, unlike the other two, but Steve's gotten either into or under them a few times now. It's . . . been a lot. 

For the moment, though, Steve just seems to want Natasha's attention and nothing else, so that's much easier. He sits on her clit and rides it roughly, vicious and demanding, and Natasha keeps up the best any alpha possibly could. Bucky watches them, not sure how he feels. 

Relieved, a little, but also . . . 

_"Fuck!"_ Steve snarls. 

Removed.

Steve snarls again as he comes, and Natasha presses her knot up into him and he curses again, louder. They lock tightly, grinding their hips together, and Bucky wants to put his hand on the back of Steve's neck and shift in close and . . . be there, he supposes. 

He wants to be there. 

He thinks he could be. Steve hasn't chased him off yet, at least. Steve keeps touching him, even though he hasn’t knotted him. He seems to resent that he won’t, but he’s not demanding it. So that’s . . . something. 

Steve growls. Bucky resists the urge to kiss him. He doesn’t want to press his luck. 

“Better, _moya lyubov_?” Natasha asks, stroking Steve’s thighs. 

“Shut up,” Steve says. 

Bucky puts his hand on the back of his neck. He can’t help it. Steve glares at him and growls again, long and low, but he doesn’t shake him off. 

So that’s something. 

“You’re not hard,” Steve says. 

“I’m not,” Bucky confirms. Steve seems to take that as a personal insult every time, but it’s just . . . not how he works. He adores Steve—he _loves_ Steve—but that doesn’t change what he can’t feel. 

He doesn’t actually understand why Steve cares. It’s not like he’s fucking him. What does it matter? 

“Take your pants off,” Steve orders brusquely. Bucky’s not sure what he wants from that. 

“You know I’m not going to knot you,” he says. Steve glares at him again, looking irritated. 

"Why? You want it?" he asks. Bucky startles, blinking at him in confusion and feeling . . . strange. 

"No," he says, but Steve ignores him for Natasha. 

"Fuck him," he orders. Natasha raises an eyebrow with a mild expression. 

"He’s not interested," she says. “And do you really want me spending a knot you could be sitting on that way?” 

“I fucking told you to, didn’t I?” Steve says with a glower. Bucky has _no_ idea what he’s thinking. 

“I don’t want fucked,” he says. Steve grabs his thighs and pushes them apart, and Bucky feels exposed even fully dressed. He has bruises from Steve’s fingers and marks from his teeth under his pants and around his wrist and scattered half a dozen other places, and he’s suddenly hyper-aware of them all. 

“Then what the fuck _do_ you want?” Steve demands, and Bucky really has no idea at all. 

Except for the obvious, of course. 

“I just want you taken care of,” he says. Steve barely smells like heat at all anymore and Bucky’s a shit excuse for an alpha, but he still wants that. 

Steve growls again. He pulls away from Natasha and pushes forward between Bucky’s thighs, come dripping down his own thighs and his hands shoving into the back of Bucky’s sweats. Bucky bites his tongue. 

He doesn’t stop him. 

“Are you an alpha or aren’t you?” Steve demands harshly, squeezing his ass with bruising fingers. Bucky bites his tongue again and Natasha watches with perfect neutrality. 

“I don’t know,” he says, which is maybe the first time he’s actually said that out loud since the forties. Steve bares his teeth at him. “Steve—” 

“Shut up,” Steve says. He’s gripping him painfully tight, but Bucky doesn’t care about the pain. At least Steve’s touching him again. “You’re still soft.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, because obviously he is. Steve hasn’t even touched his cock, and he definitely hasn’t touched it himself. 

“Turn around,” Steve says, letting go of him. Bucky hesitates, but does. Steve shoves forward and shoves him into the wall, pushing his pants down around his thighs and cupping his cock. Bucky pushes his forehead into the wall, a hard shudder going up his spine. He doesn’t understand why his body’s so eager to react for this. Usually this feels _awful_ , but with Steve and Natasha it’s just . . . strange. 

Different. 

“You want it,” Steve says. Bucky’s about to glance back at him, but Steve puts a hand on the back of his neck and that . . . 

He really doesn’t know what to do with that. 

“Steve,” he says slowly. Steve’s been odd about getting him off. As in, Steve seems to actually _care_ about getting him off, and in more than the sense of getting a knot to sit on. 

It’s not exactly something Bucky’d expected. 

Steve doesn’t remember him. He’s . . . _almost_ sure of that. 

He doesn’t know why the other’s doing this. 

“Alright, Barnes?” Natasha says. 

“Fine,” Bucky says, voice just barely uneven. Steve’s still cupping his cock with one hand, and the other’s still on the back of his neck. 

“Stay still,” Steve says, letting go of his cock. He spits into his hand, which is all the warning Bucky gets before the other’s shoving a barely-slick finger inside him. 

“Ah!” Bucky hisses, his shoulder jerking. 

“A moment, _moya lyubov_ ,” Natasha says. Steve gives her an annoyed look. 

“What?” he says. 

“Give me your hand,” Natasha says as something clicks. Bucky glances back to her, and she’s turned up a little tube of lube somewhere. He doesn’t remember actually bringing that, but of course Natasha’s always prepared. Steve makes an annoyed, impatient noise. 

“If you want me to fuck him, give me your hand,” Natasha repeats. Steve glowers, but reclaims his hand and does. She pours lube onto his fingers to slick them up. Bucky is oddly . . . _aware_ of that fact. If that makes sense. 

He doesn’t look at people and want to fuck them, but looking at Steve’s fingers all slick and wet is . . . 

Steve pushes a finger into him again. Bucky nearly bites his tongue. 

“Don’t rush him,” Natasha says, and Steve growls at her. 

“I know what I’m fucking doing,” he says. _Bucky_ would like to know what he’s fucking doing, personally. He still doesn’t understand why Steve wants him to get off, and he understands why he wants him to do it this way even less. 

He’s not _protesting_ , just . . . 

“You can handle being a little patient for once,” Natasha says. 

“I’m patient enough,” Steve says irritably. He works another finger into Bucky, a little rough but not painful. Bucky presses his forehead against the wall and bites the inside of his cheek. 

He really wishes he knew how much Steve remembers. 

Steve fucks him with his fingers. Bucky groans. Natasha watches them carefully, which is . . . very _Natasha_. Steve’s fingers rock into him deeper, and Bucky struggles to catch his breath. It doesn’t work.

"Steve," he says roughly. Steve ignores him, digging his fingers into the back of his neck; curling them inside him. Bucky feels weak. He’s hard. He doesn't know what to think. 

Steve works another finger into him. Bucky hisses, and Steve digs his nails in against his neck. It feels . . . 

It's a lot. That's all. 

Bucky exhales roughly, Steve twists and scissors his fingers inside him, and Natasha watches. Bucky would say something, but he has no idea what to say. 

Steve pulls his fingers out of him. Bucky bites back a hoarse little noise. 

"Fuck him," Steve says. 

"Maybe," Natasha says. She puts a hand on Bucky's back. "Do you want me to?" 

“I . . .” Bucky tries, exhaling harshly. “Yeah. Okay.” 

Natasha presses up against his back, her clit rubbing against his ass. Bucky nearly bites his tongue again. 

“‘Okay’, or ‘yes’?” she says. 

It’s a fair question. 

“Yes,” Bucky says, hyper-aware of Natasha’s clit against his body and Steve’s hand on his neck. It doesn’t feel like he would’ve expected it to feel. 

“Alright,” Natasha says, and then she guides her clit into him and _oh_ — 

"Natasha?!" he chokes, fingers digging into the wall. Natasha strokes a hand down his spine. 

"Good?" she checks. Her clit feels hot and hard inside him and he feels overheated and—and _strange_. It feels nothing like sex usually feels. 

"Good," he manages. 

His cock is fucking _dripping_. 

Normally he'd want out of anything even _resembling_ sex, but right now . . . 

Right now Steve’s hand is on his neck and it’s Natasha inside him, so right now it’s fine. Better than fine. 

Right now . . . it’s _good_ , right now. 

“Fuck,” Bucky mutters, feeling dizzy. This is definitely not a thing he understands about himself. 

“Well, if you’re sure,” Natasha says mildly, and rolls her hips. Bucky curses again and pushes back into her. He’s been fucked before, but it didn’t feel like this. 

She’s barely _done_ anything. 

Natasha kisses the back of his shoulder and rocks her hips in deeper. Bucky makes some noises he doesn’t mean to make, hand flattening against the wall and forehead pressing harder into it. Steve’s fingers are dull points of pain against his neck and he hopes they’ll bruise—the kind of bruise that’ll _last_. The kind of bruise that he’ll still be feeling tomorrow and maybe even the day after. 

He wants that. 

Natasha thrusts harder, and Bucky makes more noises. She’s good at this, not that that’s a surprise. Natasha’s good at most things. He wonders if she’s fucked another alpha before. She must’ve. 

Even if he’s . . . not a very good alpha. 

Even if he’s not sure he’s an alpha at all, some days. 

This really isn’t the time to be thinking about that, though. 

“Barnes,” Natasha says. Bucky turns his head just enough to look back at her. He feels overwhelmed already, already this close to coming, and she looks completely unruffled, hardly a hair out of place. 

That’s saying something, after quelling Steve’s heat. 

“Mm?” he manages, her cock sliding deeper again and making it very hard to concentrate. 

“Do you want knotted?” she asks, and his stomach jumps. 

“Why the fuck wouldn’t you knot him?” Steve says scornfully. 

“Depends if he wants me to or not,” Natasha says, running a hand up Bucky’s side as she fucks him a little quicker. He’s not sure if the gesture’s meant to be reassuring or not. “Do you, Barnes?” 

“Mm,” Bucky says. His fingers curl. He feels so _close_ so easily, and Natasha already feels so big and thick inside him, and . . . 

And. 

“Do it,” he says, ducking his head, and Natasha presses another kiss to his shoulder. 

“Alright,” she says, and then he feels her half-blown knot pressing against his body, and pressing _in_. He groans. It pops into him, and then pops back out, and Natasha thrusts harder, not quite rough but . . . but very close to it. 

The perfect amount of close to it, he’d say. 

Natasha fucks him steadily, her knot slowly growing as she does, and Bucky’s cock _aches_. He doesn’t touch it. He doesn’t want to. Steve’s fingers flex against his neck and he turns to look at him, feeling blurry and breathless and so _damned_ confused. Steve’s glaring at him, but when isn’t he these days. 

“Steve,” Bucky rasps. He wants to reach over and touch him, but Steve’s on his left, and anyway if he tried he doesn’t think he could keep himself balanced properly; he really needs that hand on the wall. Steve’s lip curls. 

“You don’t make any fucking sense,” he says, and Bucky nearly laughs. 

“Look who the fuck’s talking, pal,” he retorts breathlessly. Steve’s glare darkens and he squeezes the back of his neck. Bucky groans. That shouldn’t feel as good as it does, but it _really_ does. 

“I think you both make perfect sense,” Natasha says mildly. She puts a roll into her hips that makes Bucky’s whole body jerk into the wall. 

“Fuuuck,” he moans. He could absolutely come from this, and he’s pretty sure he’s about to. Natasha knows what she’s doing, for sure. 

"Feels good?" Natasha says. 

"Don't stop," Bucky pants. She doesn't. Her knot fills him up in a way he's never—in a way that's so—

He's been fucked before. 

He's never been knotted before, though. 

Natasha pushes her knot into him one last time and grinds their hips together, again and again and _again_ —

Bucky pants, trying to breathe right, but it's a hopeless effort. Natasha's knot swells up inside him and it's the biggest thing he's ever had, and she grinds their hips together so it presses into the most sensitive parts of him and he just—he can't—he's _so_ —

"Natasha," he manages thickly. Steve's fingers tighten on his neck again. 

"Do you like it, Sergeant?" Natasha asks in her alpha voice, low and carrying. She's never called him that before, but hearing it is a strange kind of relief. Like this is; like being fucked instead of having to do the fucking, not having to knot, not needing to be the one with the alpha voice or the one who's supposed to be in control or someone who's feeling things he just can't feel. 

"I like it," he gets out roughly, and she kisses the back of his shoulder. 

"Good," she says, and then she grinds their hips together just that _little_ bit harder as her knot swells just that _little_ bit bigger, and he wants her to come in him more than he's maybe ever wanted something in bed. 

Except to sate Steve's heat, anyway. 

"Natasha," he says again, hoarse and pleading, and she nuzzles his shoulder and strokes her hands down his sides to grip his hips gently. "More. Please." 

"If I give you any more I'm going to come in you, Sergeant," she murmurs, and he shudders roughly. "Mm?" 

"Do it," Steve says. Natasha hums. 

"Yes," Bucky says with another shudder. 

She comes in him. Her knot swells even fatter, and he's never been so full of anyone. He groans, and she kisses the back of his shoulder and grinds their hips together, and he comes himself with a strangled, aching moan. 

Steve’s hand is still on the back of his neck. 

“Don’t you do that beautifully,” Natasha rumbles approvingly, stroking his sides again. Bucky clutches up around her knot; tries to catch his breath. Coming without knotting feels . . . it’s different. 

Coming while _being_ knotted is . . . 

Fuck, but it’s different. 

He’s not sure if he’s just a mess, or if this should make sense somehow. 

“About fucking time,” Steve says, and then he shoves in close and bites the side of Bucky’s jaw. Bucky hisses reflexively, and Natasha sighs. Steve bites down his neck, dragging a hand down his stomach. He wraps his hand around his softening cock, and Bucky really, _really_ wishes he knew what he remembered. 

Steve thinks they’re his handlers. Steve thinks they’re his handlers, but . . . 

“Steve,” he says, breathless and too oversensitive for this, but not willing to tell him to stop. Steve bites down behind his ear; squeezes his cock. Bucky’s not actually sure what his refractory period is like, given the discount serum he got and how rarely he’s actually had sex since getting it and the fact he didn’t knot anything when he came, but he sure as shit wants to get it up again right now. He’s pretty sure he’d want that no matter what, though, between Steve and Natasha. 

“You whine too much,” Steve says. He strokes his cock. It responds. Bucky bites his lip, and Steve bites his neck again. 

“Mm, demanding as ever,” Natasha observes. She wraps her arms around Bucky’s stomach and leans her slight weight into him; he braces himself heavier against the wall. Her knot is still hot and hard inside him and he’s still all full of her come, and he’d _think_ that’d be hard to concentrate past, except Steve’s hand on his cock is really, really fucking distracting. 

“What’re you complaining about?” Steve says. 

“Did I say I was complaining?” she says. Bucky feels trapped between her knot and Steve’s hand, and it’s . . . it’s a lot. He’s not complaining either, just . . . it’s a lot. 

“You sounded like it,” Steve says. He squeezes Bucky’s cock again. Bucky groans. 

_“Steve,”_ he pants roughly. Steve doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know if that’s that he doesn’t want to answer to the name or what. “Fuck. What are you doing?” 

“The fuck do you think?” Steve snorts, stroking his cock faster. Bucky just barely holds himself back from fucking into his fist. He wants to, but he’s not sure what Steve would do if he did and he doesn’t want to pull at Natasha’s knot. 

“Being demanding, from what I can see,” Natasha says. Steve snaps his teeth at her. Bucky leans heavier into the wall, still struggling to breathe. 

“He’s a super soldier, isn’t he?” Steve says. Bucky’s cock fucking _aches_ , and he blinks blurrily at the wall. 

“They told you about that?” he asks. 

“They told me all sorts of shit about you,” Steve says, twisting his fist around him in a way that makes Bucky’s hips jerk reflexively. “They’re the ones who did it to you.” 

That’s true, so . . . well, he shouldn’t be surprised, should he. 

He just . . . didn’t know what HYDRA had told him. That’s all. 

“Did they tell you anything else?” Bucky says, because of course this is the time his stupid mouth chooses to ask questions like that. Steve’s lip curls. 

“You’re a failed experiment,” he says. Yeah, that makes sense, Bucky thinks. “Hell, the girls came out better than you.” 

“Girls?” Bucky repeats blankly, then hisses as Steve tightens his grip on him. 

“Yes,” Steve says. “And they’re just about all dead, so you can figure how bad your results were.” 

“I don’t know what we’re talking about,” Bucky says. “What girls?” 

“Which ones do you _think_?” Steve asks derisively. 

“You want to make me think right now?” Bucky asks with a weak laugh. “Seriously?” 

“Figure it out,” Steve says, and then he strokes his cock even harder, rougher than Bucky’s ever had feel good before, except it’s _Steve_ so of course it feels good. Which is a ridiculous thing to think, actually, because plenty of things haven’t felt good with Steve before, but Bucky thinks it all the same. This feels good, right here and now, and that’s really all he cares about. 

“Still alright, Sergeant?” Natasha checks. Bucky nods roughly. He still doesn’t know what the hell Steve’s talking about, but fuck it, he’ll worry about it later. 

“He’s fine,” Steve says in annoyance, twisting his fist around him again. Bucky’s too close to coming to say anything else, and he buries his face against his arm. 

“Steve, _fuck_ ,” is the best he can manage, and then Natasha grinds their hips together again and _hell_ —

Bucky comes into Steve’s hand, gasping and cursing, and Steve makes an impatient sound and reclaims his hand to lick his fingers, which is . . . which is a sight, definitely. Natasha tests their tie carefully, then pulls her softened clit out of him. Her come drips down his thighs and he shudders. He feels weak and overwhelmed and can’t quite bring himself to move just yet. 

“Mm,” Natasha says, taking Steve’s hand in her own and sucking his fingers clean. Bucky’s brain nearly shorts out watching. 

“Fuck,” he says again, breathing raggedly. Natasha raises an eyebrow at him, mild as ever, and Steve wipes the saliva on his fingers off on the wrecked mattress. 

“Get over here,” Steve orders sharply, and grabs Bucky around the neck in an embrace that’s practically a clothesline. Bucky goes with it, mostly because it’s Steve but also because he’d choke if he didn’t, and ends up on his back on the bed with his pants still down around his thighs. Steve straddles his face, and it’s not exactly a subtle demand. Bucky ate him out plenty of times during his heat, of course, to say nothing of all the times he's done it during their lives in general, and he’s more than willing to do it again. 

Steve still seems to like how he does it, so that’s good. 

He grips Steve’s hips and eats him out with days—and years—of practice, and Steve rides his mouth all demanding greed and desire while Natasha idly strokes his hair. Bucky assumes she’s not getting off to this, given everything he knows about her, but she watches them anyway, and her hand feels good in his hair. 

Steve comes quickly, which probably means he’s been turned on for a while, and Bucky supposes that makes sense, even though he doesn’t understand it. Steve obviously wanted Natasha to fuck him for _some_ reason, after all, and he wanted to jack him off for some reason too. Liking it’s the only one that really makes sense. 

Bucky just doesn’t know why he _would_ like it, all things considered. 

Steve gets off him. Natasha keeps stroking his hair, and Bucky wipes their come off his face and fixes his rumpled clothes before sitting up. Steve immediately leans in and bites his mouth. Bucky bites back, because kissing probably isn’t what Steve wants, and Steve wraps his arms around his neck and sits down on his thigh to grind against it. Bucky puts his hands back on his hips and lets him get himself off again. 

He really doesn’t know what Steve wants here, aside from sex, so he’s just doing his best. 

“Get in me,” Steve growls, looking at Natasha. 

“If you insist,” she says. Bucky ends up on his back again, Steve leaning over him as Natasha fucks him. Steve mostly seems to want to bite him and mess him up as much as possible, and definitely gives him new bruises doing it. Natasha fucks him ‘til she knots, and Steve comes more than once in the process. Bucky . . . 

Bucky resists the very strong urge to touch his face and turn the biting into kissing. It wouldn’t work anyway, he’s sure. 

Eventually the three of them all end up laying down in some semblance of a tangle, Steve shoving them around until he’s comfortable and Bucky narrowly avoiding getting shoved off the bed altogether. Natasha settles in much more easily, being Natasha. Bucky will settle for not getting pushed off the bed, personally. 

Steve sleeps, or at least dozes. Bucky glances at Natasha, and she looks back at him evenly, expression patient. They don’t talk or move, because obviously that’d wake Steve up. Bucky’s not even sure how he’s sleeping now, given the lifestyle he’s been living. 

Then again, he probably hasn’t gotten much real sleep in the past few decades, has he. 

Steve wakes up again, eventually, and gets off the bed without paying any attention to either of them and walks straight into the bathroom. The shower turns on. Bucky glances at Natasha again, and she props herself up on her elbows. 

“Well, I think he’s done with us,” she drawls. “At least for the moment.” 

“Apparently,” Bucky says. He sits up. Natasha does too. He reaches out and squeezes her shoulder, just for a moment, then drops his hand away. Her mouth quirks. 

“I didn’t expect you to be so involved,” she says, which means he’s surprised her, which is damn rare. Well, he surprised _himself_ , so it makes sense. 

“Neither did I,” he says. 

“Feeling alright about it?” she asks. 

“Yeah.” He shrugs. He wouldn’t have expected to be, but he feels . . . well, as fine as he can feel with Steve ignoring him, which is admittedly not the most “fine” someone could be. But he’s not regretting the sex, at least. 

“Hm,” Natasha says. They’re both sticky messes and Bucky’s clothes are a disaster, but neither of them gets up. Bucky, at least, is just listening to the shower run. He’s not sure how long to expect Steve to take in there; it could be anything from a couple minutes of soldier-efficient scrubbing or an hour of him fucking around just because he can. It’s been a bit of a coin flip on which way he’s done things so far, and obviously he could change his mind at any moment, too. 

Either way, Bucky figures they might as well give him some privacy. Not like he’s had much of that lately, considering, and he _probably_ isn’t planning to kill them with anything in the bathroom, if he’s let them live this long. 

Probably. 

“Do _you_ feel alright about it?” he asks after a moment, looking at Natasha again. She raises her eyebrows, then shrugs. 

“Fine,” she says. “It went mostly how I expected.” 

“Mostly?” Bucky tilts his head. 

“Well, I didn’t think he’d be so interested in getting you off,” she says. “But that wasn’t exactly a bad thing.” 

“I guess not,” Bucky says. Natasha shrugs again. 

“As long as you still feel alright . . .” 

“Yeah.” Bucky rubs at his scarred shoulder, then glances towards the bathroom again. He feels . . . better, actually, than he did at the beginning of things. That was a lot more stressful. Once Steve got over demanding his knot, though . . . well, things were a lot easier. 

He still doesn’t quite know how he feels about all this, but he’s at least not upset. He knows that much. 

“Sam’s probably climbing the walls by now,” Natasha says. 

“You think?” Bucky asks. 

“Yes,” she says. “And Tony _definitely_ is.” 

“It was a short heat, at least,” Bucky says. “Could’ve been a lot worse, coming off all those suppressants.” 

“True,” she says. “We could still be in the thick of things.” 

“Think we should tell them we’re alive?” Bucky asks. Natasha’s mouth quirks again. She looks amused. 

“Mmm, maybe,” she says. “We don’t want them worrying _too_ much.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky says. Then the shower cuts out, and he forgets entirely what they were talking about to look back to the bathroom door. There’s a few moments of silence, and then Steve comes out roughly scrubbing himself dry with a towel and smelling clean and fresh. He looks at them, looking annoyed. 

“What are you still doing here?” he says. 

“If you wanted us to leave, you should’ve actually said so, pal,” Bucky says. 

“Or let us use the shower first,” Natasha says agreeably. Steve scowls at them. 

“You stink like sex,” he says, lip curling. 

“Pretty sure that’s from you,” Bucky says, though they probably do smell a lot like each other now too. They must, considering Natasha knotted him. He’s still fairly sure Steve’s pheromones are stronger right now, though, with the last remnants of heat burning out of his system. 

Steve gives him an annoyed look. Bucky shrugs loosely. He’s not wrong. 

“Move the fuck over,” Steve says. Bucky does, and Steve drops the towel and gets back on the mattress. Bucky half-expects him to demand fucked or eaten out again, but he just stretches out onto his side and lays down. Natasha reaches across Bucky’s body to skirt a hand up his ribs. Steve growls, but doesn’t do anything else. Bucky thinks about putting a hand on the back of his neck, but holds himself back from it for the moment. 

“Dibs on the shower,” Natasha says, getting out of the bed. 

“I’m a worse mess than you,” Bucky says, though it’s not a real protest. She smiles at him, amused again. 

“Should’ve called dibs then, Sergeant,” she says lightly. Bucky snorts, and her smile widens. 

“Shut up and let me sleep,” Steve says irritably. Bucky looks down at him and gets glared at in return. Steve’s still rough-looking, in need of a shave and a haircut both and bruised in various places, though he’s nowhere near as marked up as Bucky knows he is himself. Natasha isn’t either, though she’s probably more marked up than Steve is. He was rougher with them than they were with him, so no surprise there. 

“You can sleep through the shower running,” Natasha says. Steve growls at her. “Don’t give me that, _moya lyubov_. You always slept like the dead.” 

That is . . . really something Bucky should follow up on, but he’s not going to do it right now. 

“You did when you were a kid, anyway,” he says. Steve gives him an annoyed look. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he says. 

“. . . don’t worry about it,” Bucky says, giving Steve a faint smile that only makes him look more annoyed. It’s . . . painful, a bit, but the part that matters is that Steve is here, and alive, and HYDRA’s never going to fucking touch him again. Not on Bucky’s goddamn life; not this time. If anyone’s falling off another train or going under the ice again, it’s going to be him. 

“You make no fucking sense,” Steve says, not for the first time of this whole . . . thing. 

“I’m not really trying to,” Bucky replies honestly. Steve glowers at him. 

“Before I go get cleaned up, are you satisfied?” Natasha asks, trailing a hand up his side again. Steve swats her away. 

“Fuck off and let me sleep, rutter,” he says. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she says dryly. Bucky puts a hand on his flank, and Steve eyes him. 

“Sleep,” Bucky says, and Natasha hums. “We’ll keep an eye on things.” 

“Sure you will,” Steve snorts, obviously not remotely trusting that. Bucky wonders, again, what he remembers. Not much, apparently, but . . . maybe some things. 

Definitely not this, though. 

“We will,” he promises, then leans in and presses a kiss against the other’s jaw. Steve makes an annoyed noise, but doesn’t pull away or shove him off, which is probably the most Bucky can hope for right now. 

But he made a promise before, too, even if Steve doesn’t remember it. He made a lot of promises to Steve, in fact. 

And it’s not the end of the line just yet.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr!](http://suzukiblu.tumblr.com/)


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